


Real

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drunkenness, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Victor comes home with a confession.





	Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pallidvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallidvixen/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for pallidvixen’s “fluff, they've moved to russia, viktor drunkening confessing how yuuri seduced him and broke his heart at the banquet” prompt.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s cold in their Russian apartment, and there aren’t any hot springs for Yuuri to sink into—he has to settle for the space heater near the couch and the comfort of Victor’s thick sweaters. The beige knit one is Yuuri’s favourite, even though it’s a little too long on him and a little too broad for both of them. It’s big enough that he can curl up and poke his knees into it, and sometimes he could swear it smells like _Victor_.

When Victor isn’t around, it’s the next best thing. Yuuri passes the time in the living room, tucked into the cushions with his phone in his hands, watching old routines from when Victor wore his hair up in a ponytail. It’s when he’s alone like this, ignoring his own training and all the household chores that come with living away from one’s parents, that Yuuri realizes just how little he’s changed. He’s as obsessed with Victor as he always was. He doesn’t have the posters all over his bedroom walls anymore, but he still stares at Victor’s face just as often. 

He’s so deep into the video that the knock on the door nearly makes him jump out of his skin. Makkachin goes off a second later, straightening up from her dog bed by the coffee table to bark up a storm. The knock comes again, more insistent, even though it has to be Victor, and he has his own key. 

The third knock pushes Yuuri off the couch. He hastily clicks off his phone and leaves it on the counter in the kitchenette on his way to the door. Makkachin putters by to watch, tail wagging, as Yuuri peers through the peephole. Victor’s smiling face greets him on the other side. So Yuuri opens the door.

He’s got his hands full of Victor a second later, the stench of alcohol wafting over him in droves. Chris waits beyond the threshold, arm held out—he was probably holding Victor up, but now Victor curls around Yuuri, attaching his stifling heat to Yuuri’s chest. His chin tucks over Yuuri’s shoulder, arms locked tightly around Yuuri’s waist. Makkachin barks happily and paws at the back of Yuuri’s legs, trying to get in on the hug. 

“Thanks for letting me borrow your man,” Chris coos. He throws in a wink, but Yuuri isn’t worried, even though he knows how Victor can be when drunk and he knows how Chris _always_ is. He trusts Victor. Mostly. 

They invited Yuuri too, but he’s really trying to stop drinking all together. And he recognized how much he’s been hogging and hanging off of Victor ever since they moved in together—Victor deserved some alone time with his friends. After all, Chris came just to see him. But Chris is staying at a hotel, because their apartment’s only one bedroom, and Chris can’t have the fun he wants on their couch. Not with Yurio, still underage, occasionally dropping by. Besides, Yuuri doesn’t want to share Victor _that_ much.

He tells Chris, “Thanks for bringing Victor home,” and Chris nods sagely, while Victor hums against Yuuri’s throat. Victor’s warm breath tickles a little, then causes a much worse reaction when he brushes his lips over Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri can feel his cheeks heating already, and even though he knows he should probably invite Chris in, he doesn’t.

Judging by Chris’ smirk, he can probably tell why. He purrs, “Well, I’d better leave you two alone, then. Call me tomorrow when you’ve slept off the hangover, Victor.”

Victor mumbles something that sounds like a perky, “Sure,” but he doesn’t let go of Yuuri. It makes it difficult to close the door again once Chris has disappeared down the hall. Makkachin sniffs around them for a moment, but then she must realize that Victor’s in no shape to shower her with love, so she pads back towards her bed. 

Victor should probably get to bed. He should probably shower, do his teeth, change out of his lopsided button up and crinkled dress-pants, but he’s clearly not going to manage any of that. With a fond huff, Yuuri squirms out of Victor’s arms. Victor groans and tries to follow him, but Yuuri ducks, setting onto Victor’s shoes. He helps Victor slip out of them, and Victor unsteadily complies, then whines, “ _Yuuri_ ,” until Yuuri rises back into his arms again.

“You’re _really_ drunk,” Yuuri notes, to which Victor slurs a Russian cheer. 

Yuuri has to push him towards the bedroom, then half carry him there, because clearly Victor’s not fit for anything more tonight than passing out. With Victor’s weight, he doesn’t even manage to get the light switch—just lets the hall light and the stars outside the bedroom window do their work. Victors follows until they hit the bed, but when Yuuri tries to push him down onto the mattress, he drags Yuuri down with him. He keeps Yuuri bent over him, glasses sliding down to nudge his nose, and he grins up at Yuuri like Yuuri’s just won him the gold. It’s the sort of look that makes Yuuri’s heart pound in his chest every time. 

Hands resting against the small of Yuuri’s back, Victor drags them up, palms over Yuuri’s shoulder blades and threads deft fingers into Yuuri’s hair. He drags Yuuri in for a sloppy kiss that Yuuri surrenders to, even though Victor tastes like nothing but alcohol. When Victor tries to thrust his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth, Yuuri somehow manages to clear his head enough to push back. He doesn’t quite make it out of Victor’s grip—Victor catches his arms and makes a noise that stops Yuuri in his tracks. The pleasant glow that Victor often wears like a suit of armour just popped a hole, and he slurs with a clear note of distress, “You’re not going to sleep with me?”

Yuuri’s cheeks are definitely burning. Victor always does that to him. He weakly answers, “I still have to do the dishes...”

Victor frowns. His grip tightens, fingers curling into the sweater, while his expression drops all playful pretense and becomes something more somber, sad—strangely, horribly _vulnerable_. Then Victor asks quietly, “Are you leaving me again?” 

Yuuri blinks. He doesn’t fully understand. He just has to do the dishes. And brush his teeth, change into pajamas, check Makkachin’s water dish and double-check his alarm for tomorrow’s morning practice... “What?”

“You’re going to leave me,” Victor starts. There’s no slurring now—the words come out clear, and the haze in his eyes looks as much from raw emotion as intoxication. “Like how you left me at the banquet and didn’t talk to me again for _months_...”

Yuuri dully repeats, “The banquet...?” But he already thinks he knows where this is going.

“You spent half the night with me.” Victor’s grip tightens. He pulls Yuuri a fraction closer, and Yuuri lets it happen, let’s himself hover over Victor, one knee coming up to the mattress to steady himself at Victor’s hip. “You came to me, flushed and breathing hard, half naked and _so hot_ , and you touched me like no one else—you draped yourself all over my life and told me how much you _loved me._ You said you adored me, that you respected me so much, that I inspired you... you made me feel _so good_ , Yuuri... like I was a god... but you were right there with me...” Victor trails off, eyes distant, cheeks pink and silver bangs a disheveled mess across the blanket. Yuuri doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t remember any of it. He just knows he acted like an idiot, made a complete fool of himself, right in front of his hero. He’s ashamed to even think of that. He didn’t think much about what it meant to Victor, other than how embarrassing it must’ve been. 

Victor doesn’t look embarrassed. He groans, “And then you _left_ , and I didn’t hear from you _forever_. You completely ignored me. You _broke my heart_ , Yuuri...”

Yuuri’s chest clenches. A wave of guilt crashes into him, searing hotter than the shame. When it comes to Victor, he has so many regrets. Victor shakily exhales and goes on, “But then I saw you doing my routine, and I knew you must’ve really meant everything you’d said... you were _beautiful_. I had to see you again. Even if it meant showing up on your doorstep like everything was fine.” 

It was so much more than fine. Yuuri can still remember the excitement, the anxiety, the _joy_ that Victor brought him on that first visit. And how Victor had wanted to be near him, to get closer, and he just kept pushing Victor away.

“You were my inspiration for the eros routine,” Victor admits, “You’re my inspiration... even though you hurt me like that.” Victor’s eyes fall closed for a few seconds, opening again a little red, bleary. It doesn’t matter that he’s drunk. The sincerity cuts into Yuuri. 

Yuuri mumbles a broken, “I’m sorry,” and knows that it’s inadequate. 

He climbs onto the bed completely, perched next to Victor, and Victor shuffles over to make more room. Victor doesn’t let go of him. Yuuri pushes, “I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t realize. I... I was just ashamed of how much I loved you, even before we even knew each other, how much I have for as long as I can remember...”

A small smile finally graces Victor’s handsome face. He murmurs, “I like to be loved.” The words are slightly slurred together again, but Yuuri knows they’re genuine. When Yuuri just smiles back, Victor tugs at his sleeve.

Yuuri acquiesces, bending down to give Victor another kiss. He keeps it chaste, though Victor chases him, nuzzling into his face as he cocoons around Victor in an awkward hug. Victor envelops him back, sighing hopefully into his ear, “So you’ll stay?”

There’s really no option anymore. The dishes can wait until tomorrow. He’s sure Makkachin has what she needs, and she’ll probably wake them up in the morning. Yuuri will have awful morning breath, but given Victor’s state, he probably will too. So Yuuri gives in, promising, “Yeah. I’ll always stay.”

Victor grins like _he’s_ the lucky one. He lets Yuuri push him back to roll up the blankets so they can both climb under, and he’s glues himself to Yuuri’s body again the second he can. 

He’s asleep in minutes, and Yuuri still stays in his arms.


End file.
